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Subject: {ASSM} Repost : Bogota Bang [FM bd, MF] Rajah Dodger 
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Date: Thu, 30 Nov 2006 19:10:02 -0500
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Abstract: A trip to Colombia offers a man unexpected excitement

     Bogota Bang, by Rajah Dodger <rdodger@hotmail.com>, Copyright (c)
1999.  All rights reserved, except that electronic not-for-profit
reproduction rights only are explicitly granted with the stipulation
that this authorship and permission note must remain attached.

     "Colombia? As in drug cartels?!?"

     My voice rose an octave and a half as my boss revealed himself to
be an alien from the planet Moron.

     "Who goes to Colombia?  Do you realize that country's on the State
Department's 'don't go there' list?"  I continued in the same vein for
a few minutes before allowing him to get a word in edgewise.  He
reminded me that all the major oil companies had major investments
south of the border, that the advisory was for targets such as
diplomats, and that regular business transactions were continuing
unabated.  I wasn't terribly reassured by all this.  He tried to lay a
guilt trip on me, pointing out that this would be a really good thing
for the company to have under its belt, and that I was the only one who
was available to take it, not that he was forcing me or anything.  When
he went on to describe the incentive compensation and how the client
would arrange for a security escort, and by the way there was a $30 per
hour incentive bonus, then I felt a little better.  After all, my
passport was current and I had no dates planned, so taking the job
wouldn't really mess up my life.  I told him I'd take it.

     Then my boss gave me the kicker -- I'd have to leave in a week.
Great.  That wouldn't give me enough time to get anti-malaria shots and
have them take effect.  I eyed him with thoughts of mercenaries and
torture flitting through my head, but the bonus money won out.
Besides, there was a certain James Bond-ish thrill to the whole idea of
going down there.

     My roommate didn't see it that way when I got back to the
apartment.  "Colombia? As in drug cartels?!?"  He added several pithy
comments casting doubt on both my parentage and my sanity, concluding
with "Guess I'll see you in the remake of Midnight Express."

     Over the next week I arranged to put my email lists on vacation
status, checked the Web on what to eat, drink and avoid, and crammed a
week's worth of business casual into one piece of luggage.  I'd have to
use my laptop carrier for medicines and papers so I could get under the
two-item carryon limit and not have to check any luggage.  On most
airlines that direction, checked luggage is another word for bye-bye.

     I was all set by Friday evening, which gave me enough time to get
my last McBurger for a while.  And to see Angela and have my ashes
hauled.  I liked Angela -- she was a zaftig brunette with vibrant green
eyes, something more than escort and something less than girlfriend,
and she didn't mind if sometimes all I wanted to do was strip down and
cuddle up to her backside for an hour.  This evening I had more
strenuous activities in mind, and I didn't leave her apartment until
three hours later, having exercised all of the major muscle groups and
some I didn't know were useful.  I walked out of her apartment
gingerly, trying to keep my aching empty balls from rubbing against the
inside of my pants.  I didn't even have the strength to get undressed
when I got home, just fell onto the bed and collapsed.

     My flight was Saturday afternoon.  It was nothing exciting; the
DC-10 was full up, the food was better than I expected and some Chris
Rock movie was showing.  There was a lot of turbulence -- the guy two
seats to my right wound up with a rum and coke in his lap.  I managed
to get a couple of spotty naps anyway.  When I landed at Bogota there
was a minor hassle over my laptop, and I had to plug it in to prove
that it worked.  Also, they wanted to see the prescriptions for all of
my medications.  Finally, I made it through there, got my passport
stamped, and looked for the uniformed company driver who was supposed
to meet me.

     The local company contact had been insistent about not taking any
public taxis while I was in the country.  I had a couple of nervous
moments shaking off some shady-looking drivers who offered me a ride
into town, but finally saw someone holding a sign with my name on it.
Well, a reasonable approximation of my name.  I waved and hauled my two
bags over, and followed the guy out to the van where he put the bags in
the back and I got to ride in the front.  We chatted some on the
twenty-minute drive, interrupted every so often as the van hit a bump
or pothole and the seat slammed into my rear.  It was a good thing my
laptop case was padded -- this drive was worse than baggage handling
would have been.

     I arrived at the hotel, slightly the worse for wear but fully
briefed on topics including which subjects to avoid in conversation,
what the odds were on the Colombian team in the World Cup, where to get
a good deal on jewelry (probably his brother-in-law, I was guessing),
who to contact for security escorts and what the arrangements were to
pick me up from the hotel in the morning.  I checked in, got my room
key, went upstairs and had just enough energy to take my hanging
clothes out to unwrinkle before I took off my clothes and climbed into
bed.

     The first day of the job was very straightforward.  I got up at
6:15, showered, got dressed, got my laptop and working papers set up,
went downstairs and had a cup of coffee.  A driver arrived promptly at
seven, dispelling at least one stereotype about life south of the
border.  He and I went through a security scan at the front entrance,
he went his way and I went mine, schmoozing with the staff until we
started the first meeting at 7:30.  We broke at noon for lunch, down in
the building refectory.  Then between working sessions, brainstorming
and more meetings, we finally wrapped our daily review at 6:00pm.

     Five of us stopped by security and picked up a driver, then went
to dinner at one of the better restaurants, up in a high-rise with a
revolving view of the city.  We talked about office gossip, about the
project, about sports.  There was some conversation in Spanish, which I
couldn't follow, but they kept that to a minimum.  About an hour and a
half later, they dropped me off at my hotel and I wandered up to my
room to collapse, stopping in the lobby to get a daily paper.  Up in
the room I checked the TV channels -- outside of the Spanish-language
programs there was just HBO, MTV and a Sony channel showing a variety
of sitcoms.  I looked through the ads in the paper but didn't see
anything of interest, then flipped through the Yellow Pages.  My
rudimentary Spanish allowed me to identify the bars, some massage
outlets (probably legitimate) and something that literally meant
Turkish Baths.  I made a few notes for reference, then flipped to the
jewelry section and copied down some names and addresses.

     The next day was like the first, with yet another driver; they
must have had a number on staff, and they didn't seem to have a
standard uniform.  The work was longer, and we didn't get to our review
of the day until 7:00 in the evening.  I noticed during the day that
there were very few women on staff, and that those who did work there
were all pretty good looking.  The group went out for dinner again, so
I got to my room later than on the first night and still had to spend
some time writing up my meeting notes.

     I didn't have anything of visual interest on my laptop, because
I'd heard tales of travelers who had their PCs seized by customs for
pornography.  I attempted to do some recreational programming, but my
mind wasn't in it and I really didn't have the energy anyway, so I just
went to bed that night.

     On the third day, before I went up for the first meeting, I
stopped by the security office and told them I'd need arrangements for
an evening driver.  I told them I wanted to go look for some emeralds
and to check out the nightspots.  At lunch that day, I stopped by the
hotel in order to change a hundred and fifty into local currency.  The
bills made an uncomfortable bulge in my jacket pocket.  We only worked
until 6 that day, which left me a decent amount of time to go shopping.
 I went down to the security office, but they told me my escort would
be at the front exit.  So I went down to the front area and a guy in a
driver's uniform was slouching by the door.  I waved and went over to
him.  "You must be my driver," I said as I extended my hand to him,
"Call me Brad."  He took my hand and shook it, responding in kind, "And
my name's Rogelio."

     We got into a nondescript car and headed out.  I told Rogelio I
was looking for emeralds, and mentioned the place the airport driver
had recommended.  Rogelio made a rude face and muttered something in
Spanish, short and probably derogative, then said only that there were
better places to find quality gems.  I looked around as he drove,
noticing that there were high security fences around every residential
building and barred doors and windows on the businesses.  Apparently
Bogota had the same sort of crime problems that you see in
near-downtown Chicago or New York City.

     We drove for a while until he pulled into a parking space
somewhere outside the central business district.  We stood outside the
door as he pressed a buzzer, and when the door clicked loudly he opened
it and we went in.  The shop was small, but they did seem to have good
stones.  Rogelio turned out to have some knowledge of emeralds, and his
advice was helpful as I settled on a couple of earring-size pieces for
Angela and a stone that would make a nice pendant for the right woman.
Also a ring for my mother; Mom was going to be surprised when I
remembered her 60th birthday this year.

     After that Rogelio suggested dinner, and drove us to a place off
the tourist route.  No decor to speak of, but the grilled meats were
incredible.  We chatted as we ate -- I talked about Dallas, my job, my
roommate and my life.  He related tales of foreigners he had taken one
place or another and the troubles they had gotten into trying to use
American behaviors in Colombia.  I looked longingly at a baked coconut
flan, but decided I'd best pass on dessert.

     Over coffee, Rogelio asked what kind of nightlife I was looking
for.  I told him I was looking for a rubdown, adding "...something with
the *personal* touch, if you follow me."  A flicker of something went
over his face.  "That's not going to be in the best part of town," was
his only comment, and our conversation came to a screeching halt.  I
paid the bill and we left the restaurant.  Rogelio drove through the
streets quickly and without small talk, leaving behind us the relative
safety of heavy traffic and bright lights.  We eventually pulled up
under a flickering street light at a building where the small sign on
the door said *"Masajistas -- femeninas"*.

     We went in, finding a shabby waiting room which held a small
coffee table and a sofa.  A door next to a barred window was the only
sign of business, and Rogelio rang the bell at the window.  A
middle-aged woman appeared, and he spoke with her in low tones and
rapid Spanish.  The woman looked at me oddly a couple of times, and
Rogelio turned at one point to ask whether I wanted a man or a woman.
*"Una mujer, por favor,"* I replied, and he nodded curtly before
turning back to his conversation with the woman at the window.
Finally, he turned back to me and said "Go down to the end of the hall.
 You need to put down at least 75,000 inside and get on the massage
table.  I'll wait out here.  See you in about 45 minutes."  A buzzer
sounded, and Rogelio held the door open for me, a sour look on his
face.

     I went through the door and down the short hall, passing a couple
of doors along the way.  When I opened the door at the end, I was
pleasantly surprised.  The room was clean, although the paint in the
molding was peeling.  There was a small cabinet for the towels and
lotions, and a place for me to hang my clothes.  I pulled out a hundred
thousand in local currency, did some mental math to come up to roughly
$65, and put down an extra twenty thousand to be on the safe side.  It
seemed unlikely that I'd be able to do any negotiating in the room.  I
stripped, hung up my clothes, laying my socks and shorts on top of my
shoes, and lay on my stomach on the towel-covered table.  I was
starting to doze when I heard the door open and close.

     With my head down, I could only see her from about mid-belly down.
 Sandal-clad feet, tanned muscular legs topped by a fairly wide
wraparound burnt orange skirt.  I greeted her with a *"Buenas noches"*,
but only got a noncommittal "mmmm" in response.  I heard the sound of
the lotion bottle being squeezed, and felt her hands on my upper back.
She worked my shoulder blades and back muscles knowingly, eliciting
more than a few grunts from me as she worked out the knots.  She ran
her fingertips up my sides, making me wriggle, but then got serious
about my shoulders and neck.  A pause, another wheeze of the lotion
bottle, and she pressed her forearm alongside my spine, pressing and
dragging her entire arm down my back.  Instead of stopping at my waist,
she continued on down sliding her whole arm between my asscheeks, her
fingers fluttering along the way.  I jumped and squirmed at this,
lifting my hips to give my expanding cock some room.  I settled down
and started to relax again as she squeezed my thigh and leg muscles and
worked from there down to my ankles.  She spent quite a bit of focused
attention on my calves and feet, and by the time she said *"a su
trasero, por favor,"* I was purring way deep in my throat.

     I flipped over onto my back and got my first good look at the rest
of her.  Late forties, I guessed; shoulder-length black hair topped an
angular face with pretty brown eyes.  An overfilled black athletic bra
top completed the picture, and seeing that she had my attention, she
took the top off.  I felt my cock thickening as her breasts came into
view, large dark nipples pointing right at me.  She squeezed some
lotion into her hands and leaned forward to rub the tops of my legs.  I
spread my feet outward to give her better access to everything, but
that didn't get the reaction I expected.  She frowned at that.
Standing back for a moment, she barked, *"Puede usted quedarse
quieto?"*

     Not quite understanding her, I shook my head and said no.  She
pursed her lips, and then reached down on either side of the foot of
the massage table.  She brought out a couple of worn leather cuffs and
quickly and efficiently fastened them to my ankles in their spread
position.  Then she strode to the head of the table and brought out a
chin strap which went into place before I quite figured out what was
going on.  When she finished buckling my head down, she took some
lotion and spread it over her breasts, then leaned over me and dangled
them against either side of my face.  *"Esta practico."*  She shook her
torso, slapping me in the face with her breasts, and sent her slick
fingertips dancing down my sides and over my belly, stopping just short
of actually touching my cock.  I'm very ticklish, and in no time I was
writhing from side to side, trying to escape her teasing hands but
restricted by the face and ankle restraints.

     Next she went to the side of the table and dragged her nails up
the insides of my legs, grazing my balls.  She leaned down as she did
this and her hair brushed over my cock, making it quiver that much
more.  With one hand she toyed with my nipples, with the other she
stroked under my balls, teasing my ass with one sharp nail.  By this
time I was almost throwing myself from one side of the table to the
other, trying to force my painfully hard cock into contact with her
hands, whimpering *"por favor, senora, por favor"*.  Just when I
thought I'd break down and start crying, she slid her hand between my
asscheeks and rubbed her thumb in a spot somewhere under my balls.  I
gave out a strangled scream and came like a gusher, cum flying
everywhere, landing on my belly, her breasts, up to my eyebrows.  She
stroked my balls, murmuring something musical as I gasped, groaned and
gave up my load.  Tears were running down my face, and when my cock
slowed to a dribble she released the ankle cuffs, came up and cradled
my face between her breasts, unfastening the chin strap as well.  When
my body stopped shaking, she took a moist cloth, cleaned me up, put her
top back on and left.  It was several minutes before I could sit up,
much less get myself dressed.

     When I came out to the waiting area, Rogelio put down the daily
newspaper, sighed, and took a look through the window before opening
the front door.  We got into the car without wasting any time in that
neighborhood, and headed off to the hotel.

     On our arrival, Rogelio greeted the concierge, and without my
asking he escorted me up to my room.  In the elevator, Rogelio spoke up
for the first time in over an hour.  "I need to use the bathroom, if
it's all right with you."  I nodded, and when I opened the door to my
room he went directly for the bathroom while I headed for the bed.  I
kicked off my shoes, pulled off my socks and wiggled my toes while he
went into the bathroom.  I turned on the TV and lay back to see what
was on -- Meryl Streep in some movie being depressed in Egypt.  I heard
the toilet flush and the water running in the washbasin, followed by
Rogelio gargling.  Just as I finally worked out that the other actress
was Tracey Ullman, Rogelio cleared his throat and I glanced up.

     Make that, cleared *her* throat.  Rogelio had doffed the uniform
jacket and shirt, and I was looking at a very appealing pair of small
breasts with lightly traced tan lines running up to her shoulders.  I
took a second and third look at the uniform pants -- I didn't see any
bulge there.  I started to turn red at the thought of Rogelio waiting
and listening back at the massage place while I was getting my rocks
off noisily.

     He...  She...  giggled.  "You should see your face!  You don't
know whether to get turned on or run like hell!"  Rogelio came over to
where I was sitting, pushed me so I fell back onto the bed, and climbed
up on top of me, straddling my legs.  "But I bet turned-on is winning,
though!"  Rogelio rested one hand on top of my crotch, and we both felt
the erection pulsing there.  She flexed her fingers over my balls and
shook her breasts over my face.  She spread her legs wider and settled
down on top of me, one breast popping into my mouth as her hands moved
knowingly to my belt and zipper.  I sucked reflexively when her hand
popped into my briefs and grasped my cock, tugging on it back and forth
until it was at least as hard as the masseuse had made it.  I wasn't
anywhere near coming, though, when Rogelio sat up, popping her nipple
out from between my lips.  "Get undressed, gringo.  I had to listen to
you giving it up to that *puta* in town, now I want that for myself."

     She didn't leave me any time to fold my clothes; by the time I had
my slacks down around my ankles, she was nude.  As pretty below as she
was up top, with a sparse dusting of brunette pubic hair already
glistening with her arousal.  She pulled my pants the rest of the way
off while I got out of my shirt, and we worked together getting rid of
my underpants.  "Lie back," she said, and swung herself around so that
her thighs covered my face.  I dove in, enjoying the tart sweetness of
her while she breathed on my balls and surrounded by cock with her wet
active mouth.

     I was hard in no time, but without the sense of urgency I'd had
earlier in the evening.  Good thing, too, because she got off my face,
held my cock up and lowered herself onto it.  She rode me like a rodeo
bull, rising and falling to her own rhythms and needs, while I just
held onto her knees and stroked her legs, enjoying the feeling of being
inside her.  I watched, entranced, as a light flush spread over her
breasts, chest and shoulders, and as I extended one finger to stroke
her visibly-engorged clit she let out a deep moan and her pussy did
some amazing things around my cock.  I started wishing I *could* cum,
as she slammed her hips down hard, grabbed her breasts, opened her
mouth in a soundless "O", and then fell forward onto me in mid-spasm.
I stroked her sweaty back and asscheeks until her eyes opened.  "You're
still hard," she said in some surprise.  I shrugged, not a terribly
effective gesture when you're flat on your back beneath a naked woman.
She rolled her hips from side to side, then lay her head down on my
chest while still clasping me inside her.  "I *like* that feeling," she
murmured in my ear, "... a lot," and yawned, then slowly dozed off in
my arms.  I was feeling a bit worn out myself...

     I woke up in the middle of a very nice dream, lying back in the
jacuzzi with the water jets finding all of my sensitive places.  When I
opened my eyes, Rogelio was nibbling at my cock and playing with my
balls and backside.  Seeing that I was awake, she rolled over on her
back and told me to "put him here, cowboy".  I sat up, climbed on top
of her, and did just that.  First with slow strokes, in and out,
rubbing her clit, then when she wrapped her legs around me and urged me
to go faster, I sped up and let my balls do the talking.  There wasn't
going to be a second act this time -- I already had that tight feeling
between my legs, and she was pulling me into her almost as fast as I
was trying to sink myself in.  Four, maybe five minutes later I was
huffing and she was moaning; no sooner did I let loose inside her than
she let out a yelp and dug her nails into my back.  I could tell there
would be blood, but I was too lost trying to drive my cock further into
her to care.

     At some point, after we both caught our breath, she slid out from
beneath me, her pussy still managing to grasp the head of my cock for a
last kiss as it popped off.  "I really ought to let you get *some*
sleep before you go to work," she said smiling.  I lay on the bed,
totally wiped out, as she took a shower and dried her hair.  She came
back to me for one last long kiss, cupped my balls and said "Take good
care of these, mister."

     And with that she was gone.

     I woke up the next morning, energized and looking forward to my
drive to the office.  I hoped for Rogelio, but I got a different driver
and he was in a lousy mood.  When I asked why, I got a lecture about
foreigners who thought nothing about telling security they needed a
driver and then not bothering to show up at the appointed time or
location.  "What did you do, just pick up a car and driver off the
street?  You should consider yourself lucky."

     I thought about that comment all through the morning wrapup
meetings.  I guess he was right, because when I called the security
office after my final meeting they claimed they never had a driver
named Rogelio. I didn't get another opportunity; I left Colombia after
lunch and haven't been back since.

***** {END} ***** Completed 1999-03-01, 4221 words

     Okay, folks, I feel it incumbent on me to add some sort of
disclaimer.  Anonymous encounters in foreign countries with no condoms
are an invitation to any number of nasty STDs.  Unprotected sex in the
United States is no guarantee either.  Play careful and live to have
fun.

     Also, thanks to my good friend Tom of Panama who provided me with
the correct idiomatic Spanish to use in place of my dictionary
translations.

Copyright (c) 1999 Rajah Dodger (rdodger@hotmail.com)

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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